After X
by Verthril
Summary: A homeless blind man, a woman who hasn't seen the sun for years, just where would they be had one man died on a beach down in Cuba? Just where did everyone end up that day when history derailed with one errant bullet.
1. Blind Leading the Blind

Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made by this work.

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A sandwich in my lap and the smell of chewing gum in the air, my thanks met with silence aside from the usual ambiance of the downtown core. That was my first meeting with her, the routine repeated a handful of days until that one day I felt someone nestle next to me at my usual place on the street begging for change. Just as before my thanks was met with no reply, but as I bit into the deli fresh sandwich and remembered just what it was to eat food that didn't come out of a cellophane wrapper or if I wanted fries with it, I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Sitting out there giving thanks and a God Bless for a god I felt no fealty to, with her there by my side I found myself saying thanks more often than ever before as the change found its way into my cup with some folded bills. In the course of that day more charity than I was usually blessed with for a whole week found its way to my cup. It was charity she would have none of, the rustle of a blanket and her joining the flow of traffic always announcing her passing.

Listening to the old clock toll the ninth hour three shy of midnight, I'd leave my post and tap my cane listening to the night life come alive around me wondering just what it looked like. Blind since my youth, I didn't hide behind sunglasses and instead wrapped gauze around them proclaiming the pariah that was in their midst. Three sets of light south, five west, one north and I was home to rap against the door of a man showing a different kind of charity to me, a place to sleep out of the elements as long as I didn't mind a bed made of palettes and cardboard.

Sammy ran a slew of bike couriers through the city, and the right kind of chapel to that God I didn't feel I owed any favours to even if it made it easier to sleep listening to them singing hymns down in the cellar and telling their stories. One parable was never lost on me, another bit of kindness and charity with a message, something for dinner from any of the local restaurants on that stretch of the street. Sushi one day, haddock and chips the next, give a man a fish and you feed him for a day.

Each morning I'd stare sightlessly into that mirror and run my hand over the beard that got longer each month, shaving simply overrated when you couldn't see the blade you put to your neck each morn. I'd stay for morning prayers as all the men and women asked for the saints to watch over them in their travels and trials, keeping my head bowed out of respect and my eyes clenched tight as on that day I last remembered what the blue sky looked like, I couldn't fault or begrudge them their faith.

Out to the street from the alley with all the couriers wishing me wealth, health and the blessing of their lord as they raced past, one set of lights south had me on my way to the bit of street I had earned over the years. The routine wasn't any different this day from the next ever since it had started, a sandwich thrown on my lap and the feeling of someone curling up beside me for what I realized was her rest after a long night.

Now and again I could swear I heard her crying, clenching my firsts against blindly questing to find out if her cheeks had tears on them. I knew well now what that sandwich bought each day, the pity of the passing and a safe place for her to sleep. It made it harder when she'd leave, my cup full and nothing asked other than a bit of peace. Three lights south, five west, one north and a knock to a door that felt like home. My bed was made and my evenings meal set out, but this night I surprised my host as I tapped my cane along looking for the stairs that lead down to the cellar, a hand finding my arm to guide me even as another gave me a welcome and needed pat on my back.

That night I sat with those men and women for the very first time and listened to their prayers, heard them tell all the hardships they had suffered through their days and the times they felt the hand of their lord at work keeping them safe. I sang the hymns I had listened to countless tales told and felt the gauze grow damp as I wept feeling forsaken by their god. I couldn't stomach the fish that night, curling up in my rough wool blanket and sleeping suffering dreams tormented by memories of an endless sky full of clouds.

The counting of the lights brought me to my place, pulling my cup out of my bag to rest it before me in a pitiful act. I tried everyday not to expect it, but as I felt a sandwich fall into my lap and felt her nestle next to me I really felt like my day could start in earnest as the tears fell. Still hungry from the night before, never had it tasted as good as then with her by my side, my thanks given easier and the blessings of that God feeling more heartfelt as my cup became so full I had to pocket some of the bills in my old army surplus jacket that more charity could be added.

Listening to the clock toll the hour growing closer to when she would leave, this day I wouldn't just give her a place to sleep, this day I would invite her to my home. Waiting out the tolling of the hour, as it fell to rang thrice I felt her stir as always at the hour being called and waited. The forth hour came and went, but as the hour struck the fifth I found her hand and gripped it.

"Let go!"

Her voice was younger than I expected, so young it stung and I nearly slackened my grip but found the resolve to hold tight. I hoped if any who gave me charity were passing by that they'd forgive me, but of all the times I had just let her wander off into the night to not be seen unto the next morning I just had to know what she did in those hours.

"Come with me tonight."

"You can't afford me."

If I thought I had cried before, hearing those words spoken by someone so young nearly had my heart break, saved only by the cruel a joke that had been played upon me when I was but a boy myself. Finding all the bills I had saved ever since she had laid with me looking only for a peaceful slumber, I heard her crying again and had to bite hard against my lip to hold my tongue. Whatever it was I gave her was enough, taken up by the arm and guiding off down the streets.

"No, not that way."

I didn't know where that way lead and it was a path I couldn't and wouldn't walk, still having my bearings enough to lead her to the safe place I had found. Taking the old route, three south, five west, one north, I rapped my cane against the door and waited. Amazed at how much time could pass between the beating of my hammering heart, all I imagined in that time could fill a lifetime until the bolt was thrown and the door opened.

"You got a friend tonight Slim? Always room for one more, don't you worry a thing kid, no one's goin' to hurt you here."

I knew then I wouldn't be able to eat the days fish, but I hoped maybe she'd have an appetite for it. Welcomed in with the rest as they ended their shift, I let myself be guided on down into the cellar for the evening mass. A place was made for her too right beside me, singing the hymns myself enough for the both of us as I joined the rest. When it came time to rest for the night I tensed as I felt her lie next to me.

"Can I just sleep here tonight, please?"

Whatever strength I found to hide from the truth I had hid from earlier failed me listening to her request, crying openly and keeping my eyes clenched so very tight. Questing hands found me in a way I didn't long to know them, instead seizing her and holding her tight and feeling how tiny she felt. Her chin found my shoulder and mine hers, her sobs joining mine as we laid together that night having paid for her until the dawn.

When the sun came up I still felt her curled up against me, breathing in that bubblegum scent I had caught the first time the sandwich had fallen into my lap. Wrapping her up in my blanket and making my way off to the shower in the basement, that morning my beard felt like burlap against my chin and the urge to shave drove me mad. Gripping tufts of it and cutting it clean with scissors, all too much of it was left as those first light steps announced her.

"Let me."

Standing rigid as she pressed herself against me, small hands took up the scissors from my shaking hands to snip and cut all the last shreds of the beard I had known since I was still a young man. Hearing the sound of the sink drawn with the water running so hot I could feel the steam rising, I waited for the first lather of soap to be pressed against my grizzly mess.

"Do you trust me?"

The question was so surprising that I just had to nod, feeling her hug me and wander off back up those stairs. In a time she came back and this time with something that had a zipper with it. This time instead of the rough soap a proper lather was pressed against all that was left of my beard, a noise I had only heard from the movies of my childhood heard then with a straight razor drawn against leather.

"Do you still trust me?"

Asking permission if I ever heard it, I gave my nod thinking of those days she had trusted me to keep her safe out on the streets as she slept soundly. Her touch was light and in its passing I felt the cool air against my naked flesh for the first time in years. Her hand running over my bare cheeks and chin had a shiver run down my spine, but as she brushed my lips I couldn't stall the sob that barked free of my chest.

She didn't say anything else, instead she just washed my face and cleaned her razor before stowing it with that same zipper growling as it was closed. I sat on the toilet as she showered, hearing the closing of the door as I did the same. I hadn't paid her to see me as I was born and wouldn't ask her to, but as the hot spray fell over my bare face and clenched eyes, I felt alive for the first time in years.

Singing hymns for the both of us as I wished all those men and women well on their day, heading out with their own well wishes and prayers I headed back along my route with her hand clasped in my own. That day she took me to the deli those sandwiches came from and asked the man behind the counter to make her 'one with everything'. Only as we resumed our ritual and was about to break it with a question did I hear something that had me knowing just where her breakfast came form that day, a take out container of day old fish and chips popped as we ate to the sound of a few coins falling into my cup.

She napped and feigned sleep, laying next to me knowing I'd keep her safe, until the tolling of the hours drew near and I knew she'd have to leave again. With little more than pocket change to my name I took her wrist this time.

"I know you can't afford me this time."

The sadness in her voice would have broke my heart had it not been shattered the night before, my grip firm and resolute as I wasn't about to let her go again into the night.

"Take me to the man who can."

Feeling her shake in fear, I found her shoulder and held firm promising her with a whisper that she'd never have to suffer again. Taken up and lead off, this time I had to fight against the path that would lead me to the safe place I knew at Sammy's full of kind and gentle people overlooked but not forgotten by their shepherd. Tonight I let myself be led astray hoping to bring one back, not if to Sammy's flock then to my bed that asked nothing from her.

Walked down an alleyway I could tell only by the stench of the dumpsters and garbage rotting away, I heard loud steps announce the devil as far as I was concerned. He came stinking of cigarettes and cheap aftershave, he came with the tremble that filled the girl who I had trusted with a razor against my throat and who had fed me if only for a restful slumber as I reaped the benefit of her closeness.

"Who the fuck is this?"

A zipper of a wallet this time had me hearing the passing of bills given in charity to me exchanging hands, clenching my jaw tight feeling filthy at that betrayal. In that moment I knew I could never return to that corner, could never beg for their scraps knowing just where it went.

"What the fuck is this Jubilee?"

A slap and a body falling limp to the gutter had me clenching my fists, remembering a time I could throw punches and fight with the best of them. Lessons I had heard but never paid heed to echoed in my ears with the hammering of my heart and the beating of my blood, slowly unwinding the gauze from my eyes.

"I want you to look me in the eye and ask that again."

The laugh was cruel, but I felt his breath against me right along with his brand of smokes and bourbon. Letting him take my face in hand and squeeze with all his might, I waited until I could be sure.

"Close your eyes until I say."

"What the fuck..."

"They're closed."

Staring into the eyes of a man that would use a child so, I took his look full of anger and hate and added it right there along with the sunny skies I remembered from years before. My world was painted red in that moment and I felt for the first time like I had sins to pray for forgiveness. Throughout it all in the corner of my eye I saw her face for the first time, her own eyes clenched tight against the crime I committed. Darkness came again, my hand pressed to my closed eyes trembling in rage.

"Can I open them?"

"Not until I tell you."

Picking up my used gauze, I found her sitting there in the alley and wept for her as I wound them about her brow until I knew she wouldn't have to ever see what had happened there. Taking her by the hand and finding my cane, I lead her out of the darkness hoping maybe to find my way back to Sammy's where I could ask his god to wash away my sins, hoping maybe he'd listen to my self serving reasons and find them righteous as I acted against one of his flock, no matter how far he had strayed. I wouldn't hold my breath, holding tight to her hand as we walked on both struck blind until that debt could be paid.

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	2. Stray cat caught in a storm

Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made by this work.

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It was a mudslide, the earth moving like a river to bury our family car under tonnes of earth and rubble. I'd never forget the noise of shattered glass or the stench of blood, but it took me years to realise just what had taken my daddy that day. Mom, then Mommy, just kept telling me to go to sleep, that it was just a nightmare and when I'd wake up it would all be over. She was only half right, I went to sleep dreaming of the rain that had washed a mountain over the family car never to see a sunny day again. The rescue crew only found us because the tail lights had held out long enough until the mud had washed clear, digging into my family tomb to pull me free of my parents.

It rained at the funeral, I remember thinking the black umbrellas looked like mushrooms, the caskets laid low into the earth again. I stayed at my aunt's, then an uncle, both sets of grandparents always passed around never able to stay for too long. The only constant in my life was the rain. One winter was different, sent off to a family friend, that winter it snowed like it never had before, that one winter I had my White Christmas.

"_I'm sorry."_

"_It was a long time ago."_

The rain was good for something though, sent to a uncle's down south in the middle of a drought where even the wells were drying up. Everyone was afraid of wildfires breaking out eating up the scraggly brush and destroying crops. One night he let me in on a secret as we sat out on the porch watching the thunder ripple through the clouds, that he had called up my Mom's younger sister I had been staying with to ask about the weather.

"_That was when I knew."_

"_That you were..."_

"_Special."_

"_I don't feel special."_

Moving around as much as I did, I didn't make many friends, most days just spent inside reading about far off places like the wild Savannah of Africa, the Pyramids of Egypt and the one place in the world where I would fit in so well, Jolly old London. I watched a lot of movies already classics before I was born, Lawrence of Arabia, Casablanca, and old black and white musicals.

"_Have you ever been to any of those places?"_

"_Goodness no, the flights were always cancelled due to the weather."_

"_That's why you take the bus?"_

"_They always seem to run."_

One birthday I was given a camera, it wasn't anything special, my grandfather told me as much as he shrugged off my surprise. It was just a second hand thing from a pawn shop, a few different types of lenses and a handful of rolls of discount film from the pharmacy down the street. But to me, it was like that moment out on the porch with my Uncle when he shared that secret with me, I never saw the world the same way again. I looked at it seeing all those pictures of the far off places, one moment captured that would never come again.

"_You're a photographer?"_

"_Freelance, it lets me travel. I can't stay in one place too long after all."_

It lets me take the rain with me, always looking for where it's needed, droughts and wildfires or just the crops that could use it. White Christmases spent north are my winters, I've travelled on up through the Northern States and Canada visiting their festivals, on through the vineyards staying around just long enough to see a different harvest come in with the ice wines. I'll have to show you my albums, there's a few with my baggage.

"_The bus is stopping."_

"_Odd, we're still two hours shy of the terminal."_

"_Do you think something's wrong?"_

"_Lets just go see, shall we?"_

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It was raining and now I knew why, all the weather forecasters trying their best to explain a storm front moving in against all their models back on the tv's at the bus terminal. Buying my ticket had taken most of my concentration, the headache coming as a dull throb behind my eyes that I'd have to endure until I could take some medication for it. Chronic Migraines since twelve, I kept the real reason for them a secret until a stranger caught me forgetting to concentrate as I passed right through a set of sliding doors that hadn't budged.

We were going the same way and found a set of seats in the back, running away from home at sixteen myself seemed foolish but I just couldn't take living the lie anymore. I just had to get away. She told me her story on the way, told me that she was special as if it was something I had in common with her. It helped pass the time, and I felt sorry for her hearing about how her parents had died, how she had been passed around family members.

"The bus is stopping."

The old greyhound shuddered as the tires bit for purchase against the slick roads, too hard to see out the windows that ran with rivulets rinsing clean the spray of the highway. She looked surprised, checking her watch for the time and giving her opinion on it. Everything she told me had her trusting her to know well just how long it took to get from one city to the next. My first thought was traffic accident, some fender bender tying up road leaving us stuck there for hours. The pills were working but I'd have to take more if I wanted to sit with her listening to her stories.

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"Let's just go see, shall we?"

She had a camera bag with her, weathered and worn, making me think maybe it was her first that she wouldn't trust down with all the luggage below. It'd give me time to relax out in the rain, just stand there and let the ache ease away not caring what happened as no one would be out to bump or jostle me forcing me to keep it all together. Following after her, there was a line of cars ten deep leading up to the accident.

A car had spun out and flipped into the ditch, no rescue crews on scene yet as people debated on just how to handle it. I felt her go rigid staring at the scene, saw her eyes go white as the rain picked up and somewhere a crash of lightning sounded all too close. Forcing myself to rejoin the world and take her by the hands, the rain was cold against my back and ran down my nose to bother me. The touch drew her back, her once white eyes growing blue again as she took a shuddering breath.

"Once rescue crews get here, they'll be fine."

"Don't you smell it?"

It was hard to smell anything other than wet earth and mud, the rain washing away all scents and smells other than the storm. Gasoline, as we walked up closer to the wreck it was easier to smell, everyone else too worried about trying to calm down the people inside to notice. Finally I could hear the screaming of a baby, the frantic cries of a mother and men grunting in exertion trying to find purchase against the mud to lift the car up enough to get someone in.

"Oh my god..."

"I don't feel the rain."

"What?"

"I don't feel the rain."

Staring down to her hand that I still held, in shock I tore my hand free and stumbled back feeling the surging of the mother of all headaches. Yet she just stood there looking up to the stormy sky and smiled in spite of everything that was going on. The scream of the baby tore through my mind, letting my control slip again just to find some relief.

"You said you don't feel special, but right now I think you're the only person who is really special."

Following her gaze to the crushed car as the men bellowed and fought to try and get it up enough, I noticed how high the water was getting and thought of those strangers in there trapped. My heart twisted painfully and I fought against just falling to my knees and crying at the tragedy of it all, another slow death in the mud.

"If you can take their hand like you just did mine, then you can save them."

Staring down at my clenched fists and remembering her story, I took the first few shaky breaths that threatened to break out into sobs and did the only thing I could, I ran. I ran right into that car not caring who saw, took the first hand I could find and pulled them free. The gas stank so close to the wreck, finding a man at the wheel next and dragging him through the hood to drop him twenty feet away. Twice more I rushed in, the baby my last, a little boy with a hell of a set of lungs.

"I can't see anyone else in there!"

"Thank god!"

People were screaming all around me, I ignored them all and just held the baby dearly in my arms and kept him out of the rain. In the distance I could hear just over the storm the sound of sirens, rescue coming at last, rescue that would have been too late looking to the car sunk down in the ditch with the water still rising. People were whispering around me and giving me space, but out of them an EMT came by offering his hand.

I didn't take it, but I followed him to the back of an ambulance, recognizing the mother there with people answering her frantic questions. Taking a deep breath and focussing I passed off her baby she had been looking for longing to know he was safe.

"Thank you, oh god thank you, they said you saved us, you saved my baby..."

I couldn't take it, I couldn't deal with so many people knowing about me, I did the only thing I could and ran off up the road right through them all and let the ache in my head fill my heart instead. Only miles down the road did I realize everything I owned was back on the bus, screaming loudly to the night at how stupid I had been. Ten minutes later I saw the first set of headlights traveling on down the road with a cheerful honk.

Pulling up aside me was a cargo van, the side door opening up to reveal the woman from the bus. I saw beside her my pink Hello Kitty knapsack, right along with what had to be her luggage.

"Room for one more Kitten, the driver's willing to take us to the terminal."

Taking her hand and being helped in, as she wrapped me up in her arms right along with her jacket I noticed the pain wasn't there so much, in fact as she helped pass the time showing me all her albums as the driver threw on whichever stations actually came in, by the time we hit the terminal it was gone. Hand in hand we walked in through the doors that parted for us, two tickets bought for a small town I never heard of.

"Storm's headed that way by all accounts, ya sure ya wanna go there?"

The attendant looked to be trying to watch out for us, giving a nod to the radar that showed a front that the weatherman was at a loss for.

"Into each life some rain must fall." I said in a whisper.

"Behind the clouds is the sun still shining?" Her reply came, her hand squeezing mine gently with a beatific smile.

"Lets go find out." I answered, taking my ticket and feeling like I wasn't lost anymore, feeling a little bit special for the first time.


	3. Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made by this work.

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...hadn't been there for the reading, I couldn't, what could I really do but play the Invisible Man wrapped in bandages wearing sunglasses and a hat? Sean and Alex sat with her instead, holding her as she cried while words were spoken more final than those said by the priest had laid her late brother, if not by birth but by a life shared together, six feet below the heath. The estate, the fortune, it was all hers, and none of it could do the one thing she, the one thing we all wanted, to just have him back helping us through the dark night.

We had been brought together as a team, we had become friends, and in one spectacular mistake I thought I had botched any chance I had with the most beautiful woman I had ever known. The clown, the bozo, the beast, I had judged her with an eye seeing everything I hated about myself. Somewhere between twinkies in the wind tunnel and coming up with the serum she had found a strength I had never known, accepting herself for who she was, strong and proud.

I still live with the guilt thinking just what my misguided serum might have inflicted on her, what horror was but the prick of a needle away lurking in that mysterious realm of genetics I thought I had mastery over. For all the classics I read scribed by the founders of Science Fiction, I never took those cautionary tales to heart, suffering the assumed invincibility of youth.

If you ever find this, I hope it finds you well, and in the event I can't be there by the time you read this, never forget the words of your mother. Mutant and Proud. From me, never let anyone tell you what you are. Because you are the child of the woman I love, and that makes you my son.

Henry McCoy

September 16th, 1983

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"You're still here?"

"Please don't take this the wrong way Raven, but honestly, where else do I have to go?"

A smile fighting a frown, suffering mixed emotions still over it all, she breathed deep to compose herself and nodded. Taking her leave, the lady of the manor returned home, she saw him standing there with his head downcast and a sag to his shoulders, dressed in a plaid robe she remembered him tailoring himself never finding one in any of the catalogues that fit.

"You're always welcome here Hank, it's, it's what he'd have wanted."

"Thank you, and for what it's worth, I apologize."

"Me too Hank, I just wish...we could start over."

Clenching her fists she thought just how far back she wanted to go, right back to twinkies and meeting the first boy that had ever looked at her with such admiration, right back to when Charles had still been her dotting big brother who was always right, right back to when they were ready to take on the world and save it from itself. Wishes were for children though, she had proven herself no child in more ways that one. Something in his defeated reflection changed, standing tall and turning to face her.

"Good morning Miss, I'm Henry McCoy, but you can just call me Hank."

In that little greeting she felt more sincerity in him than his tepid attempt to apologize before, turning to face him letting the guise of her blonde self ripple until she stood naked before him, the real Raven.

"Raven Darkholme, I've been known to go by Mystique now and again."

Bowing to her looking wholly absurd, a mix of Ward from Leave it to Beaver meets the Wolfman, she laughed and joined him in a smile as he met her gaze. She remembered the boy he had been, a clumsy tongue when it came to girls but just the right mix of confidence in everything else tempered with the perfect amount of humility. She could see all too much of that boy just then in him, tip toeing around sheepishly. Taking the lead again, she closed the distance between them until she could admire those eyes turned citrine but still so tender and caring.

"I'm sor..."

"Shh, we all made mistakes, lets just...start over."

"I have a box of twinkies in the kitchen, it seems as good a place as any."

Giggling and sputtering all at once, she dabbed her eyes and smiled at him again. Leaning in and wrapping her arms about his broad neck, she took the initiative as she had before and kissed him rolling her tongue over the fangs that hadn't been there before and feeling a thrill run through her spine. His fur was softer than she ever imagined, clenching tufts of it in her fists.

"Go get them."

"Where should I meet you?"

"My room, oh, and Hank?"

"Yes?"

"Ditch the robe, you look ridiculous."

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I write this to you on the day of your birth, a letter you may come to read someday. You were our second chance at a new life, just the three of us here making this place a home again. I was there at your birth holding your mother's hand, waiting to greet you into the world with her right along with the midwife. As I write this, the two of you are fast asleep, mother and son, the two most important people in my life. If you'll excuse my clinical detachment for a moment, even though I might not have been blessed to contribute that half of genetic material that through a miracle became you, you are my son always and forever, Kurt Wagner Darkholme.

Henry McCoy

February 17th, 1973

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"Henry McCoy! Get in here and get our son off the ceiling this moment!"

Rushing in from his study, Hank looked to the ceiling and cursed as his mother had taught him, 'Oh my Stars and Garters', rushing forward as he saw the boy he loved so dearly wave while hanging on with one hand to the chandelier.

"Goodness, he does take after his father doesn't he?" Hank remarked, eyeing anything that could give him purchase to snatch the boy down safely.

"You're his father Hank." Raven snapped, yipping in fear as her toddler swung to land against the ceiling.

"You know who I mean, pardon me," Hank said without any spite in his voice, the parentage of his son water that had gone under the bridge a long time ago. "Kurt?"

Bright yellow eyes looked down to him, a giggling laugh rippling through the library that would have bene endearing had it not come from the ten foot ceilings that made the mansion so grand. Feeling his muscles tense and taught, a spring waiting to be released, at the first sign of his boy falling he'd be leaping to catch him giving a damn to the antique furniture and all the books that he delighted in, a child's safety paramount over things any day.

"Kurt, you're scaring Mommy, just be a good boy and..."

BAMF.

The parents of the two year old boy looked to another, their citrine gazes meeting to widen in shared shock as their mouths fell low to heave a breath. Screaming in horror, Raven was already rushing out while Hank sniffed noticing something he thought might have at first been a laps of their potty training. Suffering an analytical mind that so vexed his love, it lent him a calm under fire that helped temper the bestial nature that served it's own purpose. Racing ahead, he rushed on to the favourite place the boy loved to hide in their games of Hide and Seek, sniffing once and noticing the ripe smell of a soiled diaper.

"Kurt?" Hank called out, a giggle his answer.

Getting down on all fours and prowling like a tiger in those games, he peeked behind the curtain to find the boy laughing madly at being caught. Picking him up and giving a sniff to his bottom, only then did he let the boy have the piggy bag ride that was always his reward for being caught.

"I've found him Raven dearest." Hank called out, bending low to miss the threshold of the door.

"Not. A. Word." Raven hissed, rushing up the stairs and taking her son in arm and cradling him close.

Smiling even if his mind was set aflame at the possibilities, Mutant Genetics was another of his loves thinking of the virgin territory it really was, so many mysteries to be unravelled from the twisted double helix. Kissing her cheek and ruffling his son's hair, he left her to gently scold the boy on crawling about the ceiling as he had been.

"I think I have an idea for my next book." Hank said in passing, earning a swat for ignoring her warning.

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"Trick or Treat!"

"Oh my, what a cute costume, and just what are you?" The kindly lady asked.

"A pirate!"

Swinging his sword around for show he worked it with all the flair he'd seen in the movies he adored. Behind him his parents stood looking as proud as ever, but in their eyes they suffered the anticipation, anxiety and apprehension that made this night so important to their son. The costume had been meticulously tailored by Hank, bolts of cloth brought home by Raven until just the right ones were found.

"Well, here you go dear. Some booty."

Candy fell in the pillow case, Kurt giving his best 'Arrr' for his audience to rush off with his weighty bag thrown over his shoulder and little toy saber pointed ahead. The whispers were the worst, holding her close as they did their best to ignore them. This night was his, they would do everything to protect him and let him just play out his fantasies like any boy his age. Halloween came but once a year, a night for him to dress up and play, not hidden at home away from the prying eyes or bundling up in a snowsuit so cumbersome no one could see his face.

"I hate this." Raven whispered, holding Hank's hand.

"It's just one night." Hank promised, leaning in for a kiss.

"Not this Henry...!"

Knowing he was in trouble now, he looked off to his son to see him in a duel with another pirate, laughing as they traded blows. She only called him Henry when there was trouble, eyeing her in the costume that had been picked out by her dear boy himself.

"Beauty to my beast, dressed fit for a ball."

"The moment we get home you're ripping this damn bodice off me." Raven hissed, adjusting it again.

"With the utmost respect to the genre and my absolute pleasure my dear, you only need to have asked." Hank teased.

Having his treat awaiting at home, they played their trick on the world, walking among them on the one night that was theirs. They knew the day would come when Kurt would need that talk, but for now they let him play naive to the world they themselves had grown up in, let him just play a pirate even if everyone whispered behind his back what a cute little demon he was.

-=+=–=+=–=+=-

Staring at the blank page _feeling_ what he wanted to write but struggling for the words, he started typing again something that wouldn't make it into his latest book on genetics, he started typing out a letter to join the many others in his desk drawer. Some he'd written on whatever scraps of paper he had about, others had been artfully scribed by quill on parchment as a lesson to adapt to hands he saw as paws in his darkest moments. This time he wrote one out to the soothing clatter of the typewriter and slapping it back home each time he ran to the edge.

Two pages in and working on his third he heard the door to his office open, catching her in the reflection of the old grandfather clock that ticked and tocked in the corner. She had on a tray a sandwich and a fresh cup of brew, noticing his had gone cold as he struggled.

"It's just peanut butter and jelly, Kurt made it right along with his, I just put him down to bed."

"Absolutely delectable."

Spinning about his chair and making room for her to take her place atop his lap, he held her close staring up into pained eyes she could never hide from him despite her chameleon like skills. The plate was set down behind him, but the coffee was offered, just like he liked it with a dash of cream and a bit of honey. Holding her with his hands resting down at the small of her back, she pressed the mug to his lips for a sip, a tickle to her side rewarding him with a laugh and having to cough as the cup slipped.

"That's all on you." Raven laughed, setting the mug down with the sandwich and blatantly pressing herself against his face.

"Had I known that was all it took my love, I might well have explored the saying 'The Yolk's on you' during breakfast ages ago."

A swat and her hands run through his hair to have him look her in the eye had him see her worry, the anxiety they tiptoed over daily. You, and me, and baby make three indeed. The mansion was their private retreat from the world, the fortune managed by the same people who had for the Xavier's before the late Charles himself, never having to worry for nickle and dime ever. The success of his books only compounded it all, but it never filled the hole they themselves were all too familiar with, all the wealth in the world couldn't buy their boy a normal life.

"He asked again didn't he?"

"I blame all that television you let him watch, the American dream right down to the picket fence and running off with your friends to school." Raven replied, kissing him and working through her frustration with her teeth tugging at his lip.

"He's growing up, he can't stay our little boy forever. The day's going to come when we have to let him go."

"He's only ten."

"They grow up fast, faster than we like. Wasn't it just yesterday when we were catching him cheating at hide and seek again?"

Tears down her cheeks and a longing in her kiss had him know he struck a cord, running a hand through her hair and thinking how lovely it had grown, long luxurious locks of crimson trailing down her back. Her mornings off to work or heading off to the firm to deal with being the Heiress to the Xavier fortune had him twisted, the blonde he'd lusted after as a boy grown into a magnificent women. It was always a reminder to how close he had come to truly hurting her, two little syringes in a box a memory that would torment him to the day he died.

"He wants to go to school." Raven whispered, her heart aching for how silly and simple the request was.

"Well, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed..." Hank whispered.

"What do you mean?" Raven asked.

"If he want's to go to school, why not bring the school to him?"

"You mean?"

"The mansion is more than large enough, we proved that back when we were gallivanting around playing heros..."

He waited, the flicker of despair always there whenever she thought of him, suffering his own grief in silence thinking he had met for the first time ever a peer if not mentor to prattle on in all those intellectual debates he so loved. It came and went as always, gone but not forgotten, never forgotten.

"You think you can really teach an entire school by yourself?"

"An entire school? Of course not, but maybe a class, just children like Kurt, children like we were once. Then maybe we can entertain the idea of a school." Hank whispered, staring up into her eyes and delighting in the astonishment he saw within their luster.

"But we'd have to call ourselves a school, there would be so much to do, what would we even call it?" Raven asked, her sharp mind honed by years of haggling with the best down at the Firm and going to school for something other than 'waitressing'.

"Why not a memorial to the man and his first class, our teacher who still helps us now. The Charles Francis Xavier School." Hank whispered.

"School for what?" Raven snorted.

"For Gifted Individuals, because I never feel so blessed as I am here with you and our son."

"I'll get the lawyers on it tomorrow, finish up whatever you're typing and come to bed." Raven instructed, kissing him on his button nose once and then his lips as she slowly climbed off of his lap.

Watching her walk off all hips and legs, he turned back to his typewriter and noticed the sandwich and thought of the boy who had made it. He savoured it and left the plate there as a reminder incase he forgot to thank him in the morning, looking to the page there staring back at him with his train of thought derailed. Tearing the sheet free and putting it with the rest, maybe he'd finish that letter another day he mused feeding in a blank page. He had a new idea of just what he wanted to write about, rubbing his hands together and wiggling them over the keys.

_I want to tell you about your Uncle tonight Kurt, a great man but still just a man. Your mother told me about her first meeting with him, and if you're reading this I'm sure you'll remember her telling you all about it as I will be sure to have her tell you that story tomorrow. Oh, and incase I forget, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you made me this night was sublime, but back to your Uncle Charles. You see, I first met him in a wind tunnel..._

-=+=–=+=–=+=–=+=-

"So you found them?"

"You didn't make it hard."

"Actually, I think I did, but you get that knack from your mother."

"Have you found any students yet?"

Changing the subject back to his favourite, his voice was hopeful still only sixteen, a school not built in a day just as Rome wasn't. He turned his head down to get back to reading another of the letters he had found in the very back of the desk, beside a bottle of whiskey that had his name on it and a very specific birthday.

"Actually, as it were, I think some might have found us. They haven't had easy lives either as I understand, so I'd ask you to be on your utmost best behaviour or otherwise you'll have your mother to deal with."

"Really?"

"Yes, just a handful, young and old alike. The first couple are coming later today, in the company of some old friends. The next pair should be here by the end of the week, just pretend you weren't expecting them, the phone call lead me to believe it was to be a bit of a surprise."

The eagerness in his eyes was overwhelming, a lifetime spent alone aside from his parents doing their best to fell their home full of love. But it took more than that, it took friends, it took the kind of setbacks that he'd have to learn how to get back up after, and it took the smile of a girl to make him feel special even if he felt like a bozo.

"When you're done reading what you want, come give me a hand airing out the guest rooms. We have company coming."

Expecting him to maybe stay and finish reading through them all, a lifetime spent scrawling his thoughts and tidbits of advice just incase, they were stuffed back down beside the bottle where he had found them. Rushing up to take his hand, three digits meeting five, they walked off to what today would really become a school, hoping to do the namesake proud in his stead.

-=+=–=+=–=+=–=+=-


End file.
